


Cleaning Dispute!

by Venchaser



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Asshole Jackson, Hurt, Lawyer!Jackson, M/M, Oneshot, Sweet Jackson, Tumblr, domestic setting, domestic!fic, prompt, teacher!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2475215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venchaser/pseuds/Venchaser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All I asked was one little thing! Why can't you do this one little thing for me?</p><p>Tumblr Prompt - Oneshot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cleaning Dispute!

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr Prompt! Hope you like it!
> 
> I'm always open for other prompts! Visit me at: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/perksofbeingaverage if you have a prompt or challenge! :)  
> Oneshot - Unbeta'd

“Honey, I’m home!” Stiles still cringed how stereotypical it sounded, as if he was some kind of character on a mediocre soap opera from the nineties. “Sorry I’m late. Meeting ran late.”

“Jackson?” Stiles stepped into living room and was greeted by a mess. So much for a nice evening of relaxing, Stiles thought.

“Jackson, I thought I asked you to clean up and put out the trash?” Stiles asked, a bit annoyed at the debris of beer cans, empty chips' bags, patches and streaks of dust, a half-finished microwave meal, and the untouched vacuum cleaner in the corner of the open kitchen.

“I’m sorry, babe, but this game was on and then Danny called and I kinda forgot.” Jackson said faux-apologetically, eyes not even moving away from the screen.

As a high school teacher, Stiles was required to have a good amount of patience, but at the moment this virtue was being stretched to its limits.

“Honey, I’ve been asking this for a couple of weeks. I just don’t have the time to do the cleaning, and cook dinner, and correct my pupils’ homework, and do all the laundry. Need I go on?” Stiles stressed every ‘and’. He tapped his foot rhythmically, his arms folded across his chest so tightly he could as well have been wearing a straightjacket.  

Jackson, eyes still glued to the screen, let out a noncommittal grunt. “Whatever you say.”

“Hey,” Stiles snapping his fingers. “Eyes up here. Why can’t you do this little thing I ask of you?”

“I said I forgot, jeez.” Jackson replied irritated. He stood up, and grabbed every beer can, wrapper and chips’ bag in sight with such a fury it seemed each object had offended him personally. He then stomped over to the kitchen to throw each piece individually and unnecessarily hard in the trash can.

 “There, that better?”

“Yes, perfect.” Stiles dragged out the last ‘t’, trying to hide his frustration with Jackson’s attitude.

“I really can’t see why I should do this? I’m a bloody lawyer for God’s sake. I shouldn’t clean a house and stuff.” Jackson mumbled.

“You’re the one who doesn’t want to hire a cleaning lady.” Stiles retorted.

“Hey, I’m not paying for some weird person who just cleans around the mess, and not the mess itself.” He moved back to the couch, let out a cry because his team had apparently scored and he had missed it. Stiles sauntered to the other couch, and dropped himself in the soft seat. His muscles were tense and the atmosphere for the night had apparently been set to moody with a chance of dispute.

Tensions were rising and getting more and more heated as Jackson rained complaints and objections. Stiles, too tired and too hungry to care, let Jackson rant. Get it out of your system, buddy. But Jackson was on a roll, which only meant trouble.

“I really don’t see why you can’t do it. It’s not like your job is that demanding? Teaching some kids English and read some books. Psssh”

“Excuse me?” Stiles shot up out of the couch. Jackson had crossed a line, and now it was Stiles’s turn to get all riled up. Screw hunger or tiredness.

“Have you _any_ idea what I have to do? I have to prepare classes, prepare assignments, _correct_ assignments, tutor during breaks if needed, and _so. Much. More._ All I asked was if you could lift your lazy ass for one evening to clean this house. Just vacuuming.” Stiles cried out.

“Oh, please. I do all the hard work around here. I just got an abusive maniac sentenced to prison! What did you do? Teach Harry Potter or some sh-. Stiles, where are you going?” Stiles had stopped listening, grabbed his coat and made his way back outside. Jackson ran after him.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Somewhere else, after all, I’m _just_ a teacher. I don’t deserve to be in the glorious presence of your lawyer-ness.” Stiles spat.

“That’s not even a word!”

Neighbours began to peep through windows, to see what the fuss outside was about.

“C’mon, you’re making a scene. Come back inside, I’ll make it up.” Jackson’s hand sneakily crept down towards Stiles’s rear, but his hand was slapped away.

“You are making a scene, Jackson! And don’t even think you’re getting some tonight. Or for the rest of the year for that matter!” And so Stiles stormed off to his car. And Jackson, too determined to not admit his fault, fuelled by his arrogance and his indecency, just yelled: “That’s not what you said last time!” His pride could be a burden sometimes.

His response was met with Stiles’s middle-finger. And then Stiles drove off into the night.

Stiles parked the car a few streets further, and texted Lydia.

-        _Can I stay a night or two? Big fight w Jackson._

-        _Which flavour do you want? Cookie Dough or Brownie?_

Stiles smiled a little bit, Lydia always knew to say the right things. His phone vibrated. Lydia, again

-        _Silly q: both of course!_

*

“What should I do? Should I apologize? Am I too demanding? How many fights does this make?”  Stiles cried over a spoon full of cookie dough ice cream

“Stop that self-pitying, Stiles. Jackson’s clearly at fault here. Teachers are just as important as lawyers. Completely different profession, not really fit for comparison. Don’t worry, he’ll see his errors. You can stay here for a couple of days. Show him you mean business.” Lydia said while she was poking her spoon in the chocolate ice cream.

*

It had been five days since their fight, and Stiles hadn’t been home since. The first day after the fight, Stiles apparently had come home at some point, left a note ‘ _staying with friend. Coming home when you’re not a dick anymore.’_

Jackson, too stubborn, thought “Fine, let him stay with a friend. He’ll come crawling back.”

That was the first day. Jackson had since then started to see the errors in his way, and he missed Stiles. Furthermore, he noticed that a filthy home was a drag indeed. He had learned that the hard way when he slipped on a pair of dirty boxers that had somehow made its way to the kitchen. He had knocked his head against the cupboard and that was his wakeup call.

And so began his cleaning extravaganza. He first vacuumed the entire house thoroughly, and then scrubbed the entire place rigorously. He made the bed, polished the mirrors so they sparkled like diamonds, and dusted the cobwebs in forgotten corners away. When he was finally done, he had broken out a little sweat.

“Damn, this is actually quite some work…”

His next job was to text Stiles, persuade him to come home. This was actually a lot easier than he initially expected. Of course, he added some mystery to the text, to give Stiles a bit of incentive to actually come back:

-        _I’m sorry; got a surprise for you at 7pm. Come back. I miss you._

The surprise?  Jackson was making dinner. Easy, right? Stiles did it all the time.

*

“Oh boy, here we go.” Stiles muttered as he entered his house. All was dark in the hall. Stiles let out a tentative “hello?”

The door leading to the dining and living room opened, revealing the room, filled with candles. Little flames, dancing like falling stars, illuminated the chamber. The table, dressed in a scarlet cloth, was set expertly.  Its presentation rivalled that of top-restaurants. And there stood Jackson, dressed in his finest tuxedo, sporting a cocky, boyish grin. He looked a bit self-conscious. Stiles thought it was endearing.

“Look at you. So beautiful. And everything’s so clean! I, I’m-”

“There’s more.” Said Jackson, now guiding Stiles to his seat.

“And he cooks? You’re still full of surprises.” He chuckled.

When Jackson came back with the dinner, Stiles was surprised. It was poached salmon, dressed in a pale green sauce, decorated with carrots and cucumbers cut in rose-shapes. Stiles was speechless.

“Well, don’t let it go cold! Dig in!” Jackson said gleefully.

Stiles took a bite, and had to do his utmost best not to start dry-heaving right then and there. The food _looked_ delicious, but its taste resembled something vile.

“This taste is…. Unique.” Stiles managed to say, supressing another retch.

“Oh, fuck. I fucked up bad.” Said Jackson, who immediately spit out the fish the moment it entered his mouth.

A moment of silence passed, both processing the trauma of the bad taste.

“Stiles, I’m incredibly sorry. I really shouldn’t have said what I said,” Jackson began suddenly. Stiles listened carefully, but subtlety pushed away his plate a bit further.

“Go on.”

“I shouldn’t have said that my job is more important than yours.”

“And…”

“And I’ll clean the house when you ask it. If I’m not that busy. I mean, I have demanding cases sometimes. So, maybe a house aid could be helpful. Stiles, I love you more than anything.” Jackson neared Stiles, and got on his knees, rested his head on Stiles’s thighs. “You’re my everything. These last five days were the worst.” His voice faded, a hint of sadness coloured the statement.

“They were.” Stiles acknowledged. He caressed Jackson’s hair.

“I love you too.” He lifted Jackson’s head, guiding him to his lips.

Their lips met in a soft, endearing meeting. A few playful kisses to start. In a haze of lust, they moved to the couch, Stiles began unbuttoning Jackson’s shirt, the blazer already discarded. The kiss deepened. Stiles experimented with a bit of tongue, brushing against Jackson’s lips. Soon, the slippery muscles of both men met, twisting in a seductive dance. The taste was irresitable. Tugging, biting, and nipping. Stiles heart fluttered, pounded loud as he explored Jackson’s exposed chest, caressing the chiselled body. Stiles came up for air, the intense kiss ended. He moved down, kissing Jackson’s chest, leaving a wet trail, biting Jackson’s nipple teasingly. Jackson hummed contently. Stiles came back up, and positioned himself on Jackson’s lap, grinding their manhood together.

“I missed you.” A hasty kiss.

“Me too.” 


End file.
